# From Office Drone to Plant Lady: My Journey Into Actually Livable Spaces
I’ll be honest – three years ago, if someone had told me I’d be the person friends call for advice about plants and lighting, I’d have laughed. I was living in what my sister generously called a “beige box of sadness,” working my data entry job from a folding table next to the one window that faced a brick wall. The most natural thing in my apartment was probably the dust bunnies under my couch.
But here’s the thing about spending eighteen months working from home during a pandemic – you start noticing just how much your environment affects your mood, your energy, your ability to think clearly. I’d wake up already feeling drained, spend all day under these awful fluorescent bulbs I’d bought because they were cheap, and by evening I felt like I’d been living in a subway station. Something had to change, and since I couldn’t afford to move, that something had to be my space.
So I started googling. A lot. “Why does my apartment make me depressed,” “best plants for dark rooms,” “how to make artificial light less terrible” – you know the drill. That’s when I stumbled across this term: biophilic design. Basically, it’s this idea that humans have an innate connection to nature, and when we design spaces that completely cut us off from natural elements, we feel terrible. Revolutionary concept, right?
But seriously, once I started reading about it, so many things clicked into place. Why did I always feel better when I worked from coffee shops with lots of plants and big windows? Why did that one friend’s apartment always make everyone want to hang out there longer? Why did I sleep better when I visited my parents’ house with their huge maple tree right outside the bedroom window?
The research is actually pretty fascinating. I came across this study about a hospital in Pennsylvania where they found that patients with views of trees recovered from surgery faster than those looking at brick walls. Another one showed that office workers with access to natural light had better sleep quality and were more alert during the day. There was even research about how certain plants can actually clean the air – like, they measured the levels of formaldehyde and benzene before and after adding spider plants and peace lilies to rooms.
I started small because, let’s be real, my budget was basically whatever I could squeeze out of my grocery money. First purchase: two snake plants from the grocery store for twelve bucks each. The lady at the checkout counter told me they were “impossible to kill,” which seemed like exactly my skill level. I stuck them on either side of my desk, and within a week I swear the air felt different. Could’ve been placebo effect, but I didn’t care – I was sleeping better.
Next came the lighting situation. I’d read this article about circadian rhythms and how our bodies need different types of light throughout the day. Cool white light in the morning to wake us up, warm light in the evening to help us wind down. I couldn’t afford those fancy smart bulbs, so I got a couple of different lamps from thrift stores and put daylight bulbs in one, warm bulbs in another. Total cost: maybe thirty dollars, and suddenly my apartment didn’t feel like a fluorescent nightmare.
The water element took a bit more creativity. I’d read about how the sound of moving water can reduce stress – something about negative ions, though I’m honestly not sure I understand the science. Anyway, I found this tiny tabletop fountain at a garage sale for five bucks. It’s basically the size of a coffee mug and sounds like a gentle brook if you squint your ears a bit. My partner initially made fun of it, but now he admits it’s actually pretty relaxing.
Materials were trickier as a renter, but I started paying attention to textures and what made spaces feel more natural. Instead of that plastic dish rack I’d had forever, I got a bamboo one. Swapped out my synthetic shower curtain for one made from organic cotton. Found some reclaimed wood shelving on Facebook Marketplace. None of this stuff was expensive, but cumulatively it started making my place feel less like a sterile box and more like somewhere a human might actually want to live.
The plant addiction… well, that escalated quickly. Started with those two snake plants, then I added some pothos because I’d read they’re great for beginners and grow really fast. Then a fiddle leaf fig that I definitely wasn’t ready for – killed that one pretty thoroughly. Learned my lesson and went for more forgiving options: spider plants, ZZ plants, a rubber tree that’s now taller than me.
I got really into researching which plants do what. Apparently snake plants release oxygen at night, which is unusual since most plants do the opposite. Spider plants are champion air purifiers. Monstera deliciosas aren’t just Instagram famous – they actually create this microclimate of humidity around themselves. I started keeping notes on what worked where, which plants thrived in my north-facing windows versus the ones that got afternoon sun.
The community garden thing happened by accident. I was walking past this little plot near my apartment and saw people working on a Saturday morning, looking like they actually enjoyed getting dirt under their fingernails. Turns out they were looking for volunteers, and even though I’d never grown anything outdoors, they were happy to teach me. Three months later, I can tell the difference between seedlings and weeds, I know why you shouldn’t water tomatoes on their leaves, and I’ve discovered that there’s something deeply satisfying about watching things grow that you planted yourself.
What really got me hooked on sharing this stuff was seeing how much these changes affected not just me, but people who came over. Friends started commenting that my place felt “cozy” and “relaxing.” My sister, who’d always been quick to leave after brief visits, started staying longer, even taking naps on my couch. My partner noticed his stress levels were lower when we hung out at my place versus his sterile studio apartment.
So I started documenting what I was learning, partly to keep track for myself and partly because I figured other people might be dealing with similar issues. Not everyone has the budget for major renovations or the landlord approval for permanent changes, but most people can add some plants, improve their lighting, and choose more natural materials when they’re replacing things anyway.
The response surprised me. Turns out there are a lot of people living in spaces that make them feel terrible, and a lot of them had never considered that their environment might be part of the problem. Parents dealing with kids who couldn’t focus in their bedrooms. People working from home in makeshift offices that gave them headaches. Students living in dorms that felt like prison cells.
I’m not a designer or an architect or even particularly handy with DIY projects. I’m just someone who got really interested in why some spaces make us feel good and others make us miserable, and who’s spent way too much time reading research papers about things like “the psychological effects of fractal patterns” and “biomorphic forms in interior design.”
But here’s what I’ve learned through trial and error, through killing more plants than I’ve kept alive, through experimenting with different arrangements and lighting setups and natural materials: small changes really do add up. You don’t need a living wall or a skylight or a budget in the thousands to start incorporating elements that connect you to nature.
Natural light is probably the biggest game-changer, and it’s often free – just a matter of rearranging furniture to take advantage of whatever light you have, maybe adding mirrors to bounce it around, choosing lighter colors to reflect rather than absorb it. Plants don’t have to be expensive or exotic – I’ve gotten some of my best performers from grocery stores and big box stores. Natural materials can be found secondhand or chosen gradually as you replace things that wear out.
The key is understanding what you’re trying to achieve. It’s not about creating some perfect Instagram-worthy space with expensive statement pieces. It’s about recognizing that humans evolved in natural environments, and when we spend all our time in spaces that deny that biology, we don’t function as well. We feel disconnected, tired, stressed, uninspired.
Every time I read about a school that improved test scores by adding more natural light, or a nursing home where residents became more active after they installed aquariums, or an office building where sick days dropped after they brought in plants, it reinforces what I’ve experienced in my own small way. Our environments shape how we feel and function more than we usually acknowledge.
I still work the same office job, still live in the same rental apartment, still have constraints on what I can change. But my space now feels like a place where I can actually recharge instead of just exist. I wake up to light filtering through plants on my windowsill. I work at a desk next to a small forest of green friends. I fall asleep to the gentle sound of my ridiculous little fountain.
And you know what? I sleep better, I’m less stressed, I actually enjoy spending time in my apartment instead of just tolerating it. My energy levels are more stable throughout the day. I get sick less often – could be the plants cleaning the air, could be that I’m less stressed, probably some combination.
The best part is that this stuff is accessible. You don’t need special training or a huge budget or permission from anyone. You just need to start paying attention to how different environments make you feel, and then make small adjustments toward the ones that make you feel more human.
Jeff writes about bringing bits of nature into everyday living spaces — not as a designer, but as a curious renter who experiments, fails, and keeps trying again. He shares what he’s learned about light, plants, and small changes that make big differences for real people living in ordinary apartments.
